


Strapped

by AndromedaofOthys



Series: April Writing Prompt 2016 [6]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Erik You Idiot, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Hurt Charles, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Old Dudes in Love, Prompt Fic, Stryker you bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaofOthys/pseuds/AndromedaofOthys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For April Writing Prompt!</p>
<p>Strapped - in slang - being armed with firearms</p>
<p>Erik's never had problem with firearms. In fact, he relishes their presence. However, those small, standard-issue sidearms never fail to set his temper off. After all, they're a quiet reminder of biggest mistakes in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strapped

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, I may have snatched a little from Origins and this awesome fic, An O(l)dd Couple, so excuse me :)

The metal of the guns and other metallic weaponry was a welcome and soothing constant in the life of one Erik Lensherr. The guards in Auschwitz had them; he used them to strangle them while escaping from the burning camp. The various Nazi officers and agents he hunted down in search for Herr Doktor had knives and small guns he turned on them with no compunction or regret. In a slightly perverse way he delighted in their presence on living being’s body; they offered him both protection and means of retaliation, quite often followed by swift execution. It wasn't until the night when he managed to track Doktor down and got beaten by diamond-shelled woman, later saved by the floppy-haired brunette man with the eyes the colour of the clear sky, that he laid off of using and constantly feeling out for the nearby metallic weapons. Somehow, Charles had succeeded in mellowing his ever-vigilant exterior and showed him the potential for greatness. During their time recruiting and training the gaggle of children, Erik slowly fell in love with British professor of genetics. That more than anything prompted him to teach his foolish  _ maus  _ how to shoot a gun properly, and to lecture him on importance of being wary of humans. The second objective was currently stuck on an impasse; the first one, however, came along brilliantly. After a couple of usual beginner mistakes, Charles quickly became very proficient with it, more than slightly impressing the cynic German.

‘For such a pacifist, you're not half-bad at shooting’, Erik commented couple of days in their training. Charles paused in reloading shiny Colt he borrowed from Moira.

‘I may be a pacifist my friend, but it doesn't mean I'll let the world walk over my family.’ With those words he clicked the bullet casing back in place and took casual aim at metal pigeons hundred yards away. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he pressed the trigger once, twice, three times, downing all pigeons but one. ‘Besides, this is hardly my first time using firearms.’

‘Oh?’  _ You never mentioned it _ , was the silent accusation in Erik’s voice. Charles sighed in exhaustion but before he could explain his stepfather and stepbrother Raven called them in for dinner. The following day Charles concentrated on helping Alex with his aim, and Erik went to encourage Raven into accepting her natural form.

 

After Cuba, Erik reverted back to his old habit of peripheral weapon-watching, with one addition: he always checked for the small service pistols, and took vicious satisfaction in melting their firing systems, rendering them useless. Emma and Mystique used to harp and nag him about it, but he couldn’t be deterred. He lost his friend and could-be lover because he couldn’t react in time: he was not going to risk it again. Thankfully, this little fun fact flew over the government's head, so they still classified him as metal-mover, not metal-manipulator. That changed, however, with Stryker capturing him and locking him up in Three Mile Island base. With his powers being harshly silenced and mind in liquid form throughout most of the time, Erik more or less missed his rescue team and landing at Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. What managed to wake him up, was Charles’ mind presence hovering tentatively on the edge of his mind.

‘Not taking a peek, are you Charles?’ The ginger-going-white-haired man asked in a raspy voice, ignoring X-Men’s incredulous stares at the easygoing and casual adress of their beloved headmaster.

‘I do have rules, Erik’, Charles answered in a strong voice that belied his apparent age and baldness, German noted with a soft sigh. He genuinely liked his old friend’s floppy and unruly mop of hair. ‘And your disbelief is insulting, to be honest.’ He rolled up to his bedside in his wheelchair, clasping his hands on his lap. ‘What have I ever done to earn such mistrust?’ Erik had to admit he had him there. Even during their time with CIA and preparation for battle with Shaw, Charles never went  _ inside _ people’s heads. Hover around and read surface thoughts, yes; violate another person’s privacy, no.

‘People change’, he offered as an explanation.  _ I changed _ , was the unspoken thought. Charles smiled sadly, catching it.

‘The question remains, what part of them changed?’  _ Have your ideals changed? _ Erik shook his head mutely and averted his eyes, not wanting to see pain in those blue eyes again. Cuba was burned in his mind irreversibly.

‘So very naive, Charles, old friend’, he told him, deliberately using the moniker. ‘They never change the most important part.’

‘So pessimistic’, was the telepath’s only reply.

 

The Liberty Island mess and his subsequent imprisonment, coupled with Charles’ captivity inside Stryker’s bastardized version of Cerebro, made Erik all the more determined to secure mutant safe haven. Illyana, another one of Stryker’s experiments the combined forces of X-Men and Brotherhood liberated, while refusing to join either faction was already on her way of doing so: she helped Morlocks and Omegas build a vast network of mutants-helping-mutants bolt holes in New York and LA’s undergrounds. It was she who informed Erik of a new, or rather old mutant with uncontrollable powers.

‘She’s totally out of control’ she told him, pacing around. ‘Her emotions are hair-triggered, and her powers respond in kind. She nearly slammed me into the ground before she figured out I wasn't stalking her.’

‘All the same, I want her in Brotherhood.’ The only person who had a hope of moving him was miles away, and he hoped he would stay there.

‘You're crazy, Magneto’ Illyana shook her head. ‘At least take this.’ In her hand was unassuming plastic Colt, so similar to Moira’s metal one over forty years ago.

‘She’s telekinetic, not metal manipulator.’ Erik was baffled and in pain.

‘The bullets are layered with anti-psi alloy. Stryker’s side project’, younger mutant replied nonplussed. ‘It withstood other telekinetics.’

 

Erik didn't use the gun, and Charles died.

 

After Alcatraz, Erik hid in the last place anyone would think of looking; the ruined CIA base in Virginia, while mostly uninhabitable, held just enough for an old man with lifetime of sorrows and making up to do. He would go to the nearby city of Richmond, sit in the park and stare at the metal chess set he found buried underneath the rubble, remembering all the good and bad times with Charles. No one ever approached him, and he didn't invite anyone.

‘Hello, Mr. Lensherr’ came a southern-drawl accented voice, and an ungloved hand fell on his shoulder.

‘Rogue’, he greeted her. ‘What brings you here?’

‘Mystique told me you used to come here every year. When you dropped off of the map, I figured you'd go somewhere with meaning.’ She laid the plastic Colt out.

‘Lil’ tells me you could've shot Jean’, there was no infliction in her voice.

‘I was blind, and a fool’ Erik admitted. ‘I'd never thought she'd kill Charles.’

‘The good thing, sugah’ Rogue leaned forward, ‘is that you can own up. The Prof’s alive.’

 

As unreal as it sounded when Rogue - Marie - told him, seeing Charles in his old wheelchair and feeling his mental touch again drove it home.

‘Charles’ He whispered falling on his knees.

‘Erik’, his old friend spoke warmly. ‘You're looking good.’

‘How…?’

‘Mind is a wonderful, yet powerful thing’, Charles said, his blue eyes sparkling.  _ Are you staying? _

‘Yes.’  _ A thousand times yes. _


End file.
